


Scorched Earth

by Lipush



Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, Children, Family, Gen, Mystery, Romance, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 14:45:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7176170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lipush/pseuds/Lipush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony just wanted some answers. As the saying goes- 'Be careful what you wish for'. A somewhat different approach on 13x24, "Family First".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scorched Earth

**Author's Note:**

> A/N- So, this idea came up to me after watching that heartbreaking final. While I loved it, mostly, some issues didn't add up in my mind, and I thought certain aspects to be uncharacteristic and somewhat… off. Here is my attempt on fixing that.
> 
> Fair warning. While this story is 'Tiva' related, it's not going to be fluffy-romantic whatsoever. It's going to be more angsty, if anything.
> 
> Fair warning nu#2. This story is going to touch some conflicts and politics, too. I'll keep it to the minimum, but it's necessary for the story's flow. For the record, I won't write about anything I have no idea about.
> 
> I'll remind you again to be a little patient with me. Unlike Cote, I am Israeli, and English is still not my mother tongue.  
> Hebrew and Arabic terms in chapters- will be translated, or understood from the content.
> 
> Please take your time to read and review.

** Scorched Earth **

* * *

 

** Chapter 1: **

* * *

 

**May 16th, 2016**

**Yavni'el Valley, Israel**

**3:19 AM**

Arthur grasps at his espresso cup tightly, while shooting the driver his most irritated glare.

"Dude," he growls, "Can't you be more careful? I wanna get home in one piece, thank you."

The vehicle shakes underneath them as they pass the next trail, but the driver doesn't slow down.

"Don't bitch about it, Arthur," he answers offhandedly, "I tried telling them about fixing this damn road, but as you can see…" they drive over another rock, and the seat jerks again with the bumps.

"Aw," Arthur mumbles, making a face, "But you shouldn't drive that fast anyway," he says, taking a fast sip from the warm liquid, "We don't want to miss anything."

The driver chuckles, "Don't worry. I've been keeping this town safe for the past 10 years, I know what I'm doing," his eyes are fixed on the left side of the trail, the car-lights marking the security fence to their west.

It was their patrol, tonight; Arthur didn't mind much. His wife was at her folks with the baby for the weekend, and he liked spending time with the guys. Oh, the weather wasn't ideal, and he had to have his fair share of caffeine, but other than that, no complains.

The job doesn't require much. Team 4 takes the night shifts, drives around the valley to make sure the security fence is untouched. Two weeks ago he head his one and only thrill on the job, as they discovered two meters of the fence disturbed. Turns out the rude intruder was a hungry red-fox, tracked down and released less than a day later.

His partner and Driver, Rodi, knew ever trail, every rock and ditch in the valley, and is still considered their most appreciated tracker and guard in the Galilea area. He'd trust the man with his life.

Even if he'll probably end up killing him with this crazy night-driving.

His thoughts are cut short as Rodi hits the breaks abruptly, making them both fly forward, Arthur feels the seatbelt crushing into his shoulder.

"What the hell, man?!" he all but yells, his pants now stained with leftover espresso, "Don't do that!"

"Shut up," he snaps at him, eyes fixed on a certain point to the left, and when Arthur is about to bark a juicy curse at him, Rodi points on a certain spot in the distance. "Look," he says, voice strong and stable.

It's hard to notice anything in the darkness at first, but following Rodi's finger, he finally sees it.

A large, wide hole in the fence. The wire is torn in places, and forced down in others.

"Two… maybe two and a half meters…" Rodi says, clicking his tongue in disapproval. He swings the car door open, "Grab your light," he says before exiting the car.

Arthur follows him out, and they both make their way to the fence. Checking over the spot, Arthur finds them soon enough. "Hey Rodi," he says, pointing with the flashlight at the ground, "Check this out."

The land is soft enough for them to make out the tracks easily. "Shoe prints," Arthur says, And Rodi nods, "I guess we can rule out the fox this time."

"Damnit!" Rodi snaps, digging his pocket for his Mirs, "How the hell did team 5 miss this?" he flips the small device open, pressing the green button, "Central, this is Rodi, over." He calls.

A short static noise is his answer, "Central! Rodi on team 4, you copy?" he repeats.

Another static, and then, "Team 4, this is central, over."

"I've got a 'Dark Night C' on west." Rodi responds, eyes traveling around the field, "Repeat, 'Dark Night C' on west! You copy?"

The static noise is heard again, and then, "Roger that, team 4. Are you sure level C of alert is required?"

"Positive, Central," Rodi answers immediately, "Shoe-prints found in break-in area. We've got a human intruder in town!" he then starts making fast steps to the south, when noticing the direction of the tracks. "Suspect headed south," Behind him, Arthur follows, "Our team in place."

A short pause, then "Follow procedure, team 4," Central responds, his voice fading, as he probably contacts his men on the other end, "All teams, we've got 'Dark Night C' on west! I want closest teams in place. Repeat, we've got a positive 'Dark Night' on west. Aaron, where the hell are you, man?" and at that, Central disconnects.

Fully alert now, Arthur follows Rodi's long steps. "Headed towards Shomrat," he says hoarsely, breathing in deep. The tracks are easy to follow in the ditch, but it doesn't make Rodi feel any better. They have no estimated time of break-in. This guy could by anywhere by now.

He comes to a halt abruptly. The lights of the faraway village can be seen through the hills. The thought of a possible intruder at the village is enough to make his screen crawl. "How many are there in Shomrat, Arthur?" he asks him slowly, his eyes fixed on some point in the distance.

"Five thousands, four hundred and twenty residents," Arthur responds.

Rodi inhales slowly, then said, voice shaking, "March 11th, 2011," he turns his head to look at his partner. Hearing that, Arthur tenses. His upper lip curls in a snarl, his eyes spark and palms clench into tight fists. "No need to remind you of that night," Rodi completes his sentence.

"No," Arthur spits, "No need."

They both remember that horrible night. It's been Arthur's only seconds week working as a civilian guard. They received a call of a possible security breach in one of the southern towns. Arthur's team was the first ti arrive at the scene, and he cursed that day ever since.

It was no security breach. It was a well-planned terror attack on a civilian house. A mother, a father… three of their children. All butchered mercilessly in their beds. A child… the surviving girl, hiding in the basement, holding her remaining living sibling close to her chest.

She hid her brother in one of the closets, constantly thrusting butter-cookies into his mouth to prevent him from calling their mother.

Arthur still remembers the haunted look in the girl's eyes, her cries when leaving the basement only to find her family slaughtered, blood covering every corner of the house.

"The attack originated in a torn fence, just like here," Rodi's voice invades his thoughts, "We can't have another one under our watch." His voice is dead serious.

No need to tell him twice.

Knowing the teams won't be here for another 5 minutes minimum, the two continue their hurried steps south, following the prints. After a minutes or so, a horrible smell invades their nostrils.

"Ah…" Arthur twists his face, "What the hell… it smells like rotten food in here."

Rodi, though, looks for something else. His eyes tour the ground urgently, and it's when he sees that. A tiny, unnatural hill to their left. "Hey, help me out here," he orders Arthur, kneeling on the ground.

Without question, Arthur joins him. As Rodi starts digging the wet, cold mud with his bare hands, Arthur digs in right after, ignoring the god-awful smell attacking him.

Seconds later, they both stop. "Wooahh," Arthur slowly says, leaning back, blinking at the finding.

Right next to them, lies a young man, all dark haired and beard, unmoving. His shoes hint of long walk, in his hand- a long kitchen knife. A further search leads them to the duffle bag. But it's empty for some reason.

Their terrorist, no doubt.

And his forehead is decorated with a perfectly round, deep bullet-wound.

"Ahh… I have a tiny feeling he won't be reaching Shomrat anytime soon…" Arthur says usefully.

Rodi gives him the stare.

* * *

 

**Some hours later**

**Neighbor of Abu-Kabir, Jaffa, Israel**

**Early morning**

"Your puppy dog eyes will not help you, Reshef," Dr. Friedman mutters, only half-listening, flipping her folder open, signing two of the first documents, before closing the folder and placing it on the shelf ahead, "I'm too busy."

"Oh, Come on, Maya!" he all but whines, "This is serious business, I've got the chief all spiting fire over this! You've got to help me!"

"The answer is no… again. They already signed Ronna up for this, and…. Did you just stamp your foot?" she takes a good look at him, from top to bottom, "Tell me _you did not_ just stamp your foot. Only children do that, Reshef. And no… It's not my jurisdiction, or my place to get involved in." she's growing frustrated.

"What?" Reshef gasps, spreading his arms across the sterile room, "This is, or is it not The National Center of Forensic Medicine? Because that's what the sign at the entrance says …. If I parked my car at the wrong place, I'll got looking for the other forensic center, but I do hope they'll cover some of my parking-ticket costs, because parking prices in Tel Aviv are just pure redicu-"

-"There's not need to be an asshole about it," Friedman interrupts, facing him, before turning to place another folder in its correct place, "You know perfectly well why I don't take the northern district's cases…."

Reshef's soldier sag in near defeat, "I know, I know," he said, "They screwed you over on the Nazareth murder case, but you're the best in the field, and…-"

"Screwed me over?" Dr. Friedman calls incredulously, "How about _butchered_ me, Reshef?" she approaches him, posture quite threatening considering her short frame, "They _completely_ disqualified my findings on the case! A direct result of your station's involvement!"

Reshef lowers his gaze, he knows he has no good comeback on that one. There was no naming to what his station, and the northern dispatch, did to the respectful doctor.

It was a case of 10 years in the making. A man was facing life sentence, but with no concrete evidence of him actually committing the crime. All circumstantial. The more they looked into it, the surer they were that the guy was wrongfully accused. Maya Friedman handed a report claiming the murder weapon was not one found in his possession. It was basically thrown out the window, along with her honor.

She faced both the prosecution's satisfaction, and the cruel scoff of the judge, when insisting on the accuracy of the findings. Let's just say, the word 'unprofessional' was the gentlest one they used.

"Tell me, _Sunshine_ ," she's basically in his face, it's really unsettling, "Can defensive wounds originated in a serrated knife come out of a Japanese blade?" she narrows her eyes a bit, "Just…" she spreads her arms dramatically, "Entertain me for a second…"

"No…" Reshef says in a small voice, "They cannot…"

"And why is that?" she blinks at him.

"Because Japanese knifes have flat blades." He rolls his eyes, feeling like a child being tested.

"Flat blades! Correct!" she points out, "Am I the only one seeing that!?"

She's still a bit sensitive about the old case. He can understand that, but… C'mon, this is ridiculous.

"I almost lost my _job_ over this, Reshef!"

Oh, and there's that. He forgot about that. And it pretty much ruined her promotion chances at the time. Funny, how that can piss people off. Huh.

He offers her a long look. "I'm…sorry?" he tries meekly.

The anger leaves her body along with the tension. She clicks her tongue, "Your commander sent an innocent man to life, Reshef." Her eyes convey deep sadness, "The fact that I got the long end of the stick is… meaningless."

"I know…" Reshef nods. He does.

"I hope he can live with that." She arches an eyebrow meaningfully.

He nods again.

"I've got my name and reputation back. It took long time and twice as much work as I used to, but… It turned out ok for me. I trust myself and my knowledge, but… I will not let that go. I hope Gideon knows that."

"He does…" Reshef responds, "And I'm sorry."

She sighs, "That's ok," she says after a pause, "You're a good cop, Reshef. And uncorrupted. Which I can't say about as many people as I used to, so… this favor is for you," she points at him, "Got it?"

He smiles wholeheartedly, "Got it."

"I'll tell Ronna I've got this…" she says, "So, what's the deal. Who's our victim?"

"A possible Palestinian terrorist."

She stares at him.

Still staring…

"You're _kidding_ , right?"

"No."

"A nationalist crime."

"Yep."

She chuckles humorlessly, "This just keeps getting better and better…" she turns back to him, "So…what's the story? The IDF is supposed to handle those kind of things. Or the PA. Or _anyone_ but me!"

"Yeeahh, I figures as much. So, here goes nothing. An intruder cut through the security fence of one of Yavni'el's towns," she nods at him, and he hands her a folder, "Obviously, it was an immediate code-red, so… they found him near the break-in spot, shot in the head, already in advance stages of decomposition, but we couldn't ID him, his fingerprints were burned, and…"

"Well, that's weird," Dr. Friedman frowns, opening up the folder, "Do they usually do that with their activists?"

"Not any terrorist organization what I'm familiar with… but it doesn't really matter, because in the last clashes, the majority of the attackers…"

"Were children, I know," she finishes his sentence, "I watch the news, too."

"Mhhmh."

"So where is he now?" she asks, closing the folder.

"At the northern clinics. They send him over in about 10 hours."

"I see." She pauses to think, "Still don't understand why you need me for this. The forensics up north can do a great job," the next statement is with a good taste of sarcasm, "When they're not framing people."

He ignores this somewhat childish remark, "The demand came from higher ranks," Reshef says, and before she can open her mouth he says, "Don't know, didn't ask. Besides, we have ourselves covered with the fire issue."

Oh, yes, she heard of that. Day and a half ago, a huge explosion shook the farmhouse of the former Mossad director, Eli David, killing his last living relative, and with that, wiping off the chain of a supposedly well respected family.

Needless to say, the incident became this week's topic, and the headache of many of Reshef's people.

She paused to think suddenly, "Hey, Reshef. Wasn't the family also leaving in Yavni'el's area?"

He frowns, "Well. Yeah. Actually, about 10 kilometers north-west of Shomrat."

"So… A Palestinian terrorist shot in the head. A mysterious explosion. I would say you've got yourself covered…" she turns to bring another file from the closet, "Tell Gideon I'll have your back on this one… but not for him, for you."

His smile broadens, "Thanks, Maya, I owe you." He then turns to leave.

"Yeah. Like I've never heard that one before."

* * *

 

**May 19th, 2016**

**'The Mossad' headquarters,**

**Tel Aviv, Israel**

**10:28 AM**

"Ma'am, your guest has arrived," her assistant calls to inform.

"Let him in, Na'omi."

Chief Director of The Top Israeli Institute of Special Operations, Ms. Orli Elbaz, leaned back in her chair, in patience. As her special guest entered the office, she offered him a mysterious smile.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," he shakes his head respectfully, accent still present after nearly 8 years at the states. "Always a pleasure."

That's a lie. The main thought of her presence, not to mention- seeing her in the flesh, makes him deeply nervous. She sees that.

There's fear in his eyes. She sees that, too. Those deep, brown eyes, have the same look of fear in them just like 12 years ago, when he was first brought to their custody.

But she won't mention it. Diplomacy…always.

"You look... different," she says slowly, "But I guess, that should be expected. How's the family?"

"Fine, thank you, ma'am."

"Good," she says slowly, gesturing for him to sit in front of her, and he obliges.

"I'd love to catch up more, but as you probably well know, we've just went through a horrible ordeal, and lost one of our best in process," she leans forward on her desk, "So let us go straight to the point… Did you get the job done?"

The man smiles at her, "Did I ever disappoint you, ma'am?"

She smiles in satisfaction, "Never, and I trust it will stay that way."

"I expect you to trust me, Madam Director," he emphasizes.

She chuckles at that, "You're a Palestinian terrorist, and I gave you full access to the daughter of Eli David. You think we need to talk more about trust?"

The man hums.

"I guess you also took a flight to Washington, to express your shock and sorrow to David's little friends at the NCIS?"

"Of course, that goes without saying." She says offhandedly.

"The child?" he keeps asking.

"At the moment, with her father. That's not going to be an issue with him or the NCIS."

"Did they suspect anything?"

"Is there really a need to ask such a question?" she arches one perfect eyebrow.

"Of course not," her guest lowers his gaze, "Forgive me, I forgot my place."

"Make sure it doesn't happen again," she says shortly.

He nods, then rises from his chair, "At any case, I filled my end of the deal. I trust you do the same?"

"I'm a woman of honor," she shakes her head. "Ziva David is dead and buried, and you'll get your payment soon enough."

"Of course," he says, then turns to leave.

"Oh, one more thing…" she calls, and he turns back to her, "In case you hear a word on the street regarding the, uh… _event_ … I trust your full cooperation with us?"

He considers a moment, but then nods, "Count me in," he replies.

"Excellent," she says slowly, "Always a pleasure doing business with you, Yusuf."

He takes that as his cue to leave.

She leans back in her chair, considering. Staring at the far picture on the wall in front, she mumbles to herself, " _B'ein tachbulot yipol am, Veteshua berov yo'etz_ …*"

* * *

 

**The National Center of Forensic Medicine**

**Neighbor of Abu-Kabir, Jaffa, Israel**

**Evening**

Dr. Maya Friedman rubbed her tired eyes momentarily, before turning to focus on the file at hand.

Reshef brought in the remains earlier today. She didn't have much to work with, but after a struggle, she succeeded and pulling off some DNA and tissues from the man.

As she passed on the file, she had to admit her curiosity picked. The bullet wound is not something she got to see every day in shooting victims, but she'll have no problem on working with that.

She picks up the phone to call Reshef.

"Do you have anything for me, Sugarcube?" he asks. "Something doesn't add up in the fire case, so I really am in need of a silver lining, here."

"I should get more information regarding the identity of your victim, but I can tell you this. Your murder weapon is an AK-47."

A short pause, then, "Are you sure?"

"Didn't you say I was the best and how you trust my forensic skills? _Yes_ , I'm sure. It's a Kalashnikov."

"Well, that can't be right." He sounds confused, "We believed it was one of our guards, or a soldier to shoot this guy down, but… When was the last time you heard of an In Israeli soldier shooting someone with an AK?"

She blinks, "Ah…. The 50s, maybe?"

"Try never. We don't have those here."

"Which is why I specified things even more for you, Reshef. You should let me finish my sentences, sometimes. This weapon was homemade. From the looks of it, probably Ramallah or Hebron."

"Then how did it get into our guy's head?" he wonders aloud.

"Beats me. You're the cop. Figure it out."

He sighs, and mumbles something like "This sucks," to her. That's when Maya's intern enters the room, "I've got result on victim's ID," the young girl says cheerfully, handing her a file.

"Oh, good," she says, going over it, "You hear, Reshef?"

"Loud and clear," exhaustion and relief both evident in his voice.

"We've got a match on our John Doe in the system," she talks loudly to the speaker, "His name is Ghazi Farsoun. 31 year old from Nablus. Based on lividity and decomposition, I estimate time of death about 70-75 hours ago."

"Can you be more specific?" he urges.

She thinks, before responding, "May 16th…somewhere between Midnight, and 2 AM."

"Thanks, Maya. You're the best." He says, then hangs up.

"And don't you dare say otherwise."

* * *

 

TBC

* * *

 

**A/N- Expect the plot to intensify from here. Tell me what you think**

*** "For without subterfuge, shall a nation fall... and in the multitude of counsellors there is safety."-**

**This is Taken from Proverbs, chapter 11, and is also known as 'The Mossad's motto.**


End file.
